Just A Memory
by Meah.mai
Summary: It has been 4 years since Tom's diary was destroyed, so why is he still trapped within it's pages?  Harry/Tom, correspondent with the HBP.  Rated M because you never know where you'll end up.
1. Trapped

His footsteps echoed lightly throughout the dark corridor, the torches burning low and casting eerie shadows about the walls. He hadn't the slightest where he was headed or if he would even end up anywhere. For all he knew he could walk down this hallway until the end of time and not even notice. That was the problem with being only a memory; time didn't apply to this world or to Tom. It was merely a word, having no effect on his being whatsoever. It because of his reckless stupidity he was doomed to walk through the times of his sixteen-year-old self forever, reliving the same things, walking down the same monotonous Hogwarts floors until he dropped, and never being able to escape.

Only once had his world been changed and he'd been able to live through some idiotic little girl. She'd gotten her hands on the diary he was imprisoned in and poured out her soul to him, finding consolation from his hollow words. He had to admit he was grateful the first time he'd felt words sink into his pages, finally something to change his predictable world! But as time went on he grew bored of her as well… until she'd mentioned _him_, Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. Naturally he was curious, extracting every detail from her frail mind until he came up with a plan.

It was painfully easy. He'd expertly taken over poor Ginny's mind, possessing her body for small amounts of time. She would always come out of her reveries lost and confused, never knowing what happened to the hours she thought she'd had. She'd tell him of her worries, thinking she was going mad, but he would say nothing back about the subject. A few weeks had passed and Tom finally unleashed his grand plan, slipping shamelessly into the girl's body. He returned to the diary with a smile upon his face, waiting to hear from Ginny of the chaos that would soon ensnare her precious little school.

He didn't have to wait long; soon the page was being filled with words of horror and freight. 'Oh it's terrible,' she had written. 'The Chamber of Secrets… It's been opened!' Tom had instructed her to keep him informed of the on goings in the school, telling her he was concerned for the wellbeing of the students and teachers. His lie had worked and soon he knew everything that was happening, just as if he were attending the school himself.

It wasn't long after that Ginny had finally realized Tom's effect on her; the reason why she felt so disoriented half of the time. She'd stopped writing to him and Tom feared he would never be able to complete his masterpiece, until the unimaginable had happened. Harry Potter had found the diary.

It was like a dream come true. The Boy Who Lived, the Savior of the Wizarding World, the defeater of You Know Who had possession of his diary. The plan was going swiftly, better than Tom could have ever imagined. At the time he didn't realize it but now, looking back, it was painfully obvious. Potter would win. He would always win. No matter how cunning, how perfectly executed his plan would be, that boy would always have luck on his side…

Tom sighed, stopping both his train of thought and walk. He had gone over those events a thousand times over, trying to find what had gone wrong. The only conclusion he had come to was that Potter had resources, friends to help him, and Tom, well, he had only himself.

Leaning against the cold stone wall Tom looked up at he ceiling and sighed. After the boy stabbed the diary he was still stuck in this horrid place, sentenced to remain in these cursed paged for the rest of eternity. He was certain Dumbledore had gotten rid of the remains, having no more use for the ink stained pages. No one would ever be able to find him. No one could destroy him.

He was just about to turn around when he felt a familiar tingle upon his skin. It was warm, almost like a summer breeze and just as refreshing. He had almost forgotten how absolutely brilliant that feeling was, having lived through years without experiencing it. Someone was writing to him...

_Hello Tom. It's me... Harry Potter_


	2. Something Familiar

- Disclaimer: I do not own any of this, even though I wish I did.

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><p>Dumbledore's office was quiet, well at least quieter than it normally was. The portraits that lined the walls were all fast asleep, having grown bored after the Headmaster had left the room, and were snoring away. A few of the strange instruments Dumbledore was so fond of made an array of different noises from the occasional tick to the constant whistle. And a great grandfather clock standing in the corner of the room gave its mighty chime signaling that it was almost time for dinner. The books that where stacked neatly along the shelves shone magnificently in the light of the setting sun, and Fawkes basked in it's warmth.<p>

All of this was left to one curious Harry Potter who wasn't at all one to let all of these amazing things pass his eye. Harry had always liked this office and all the mysterious things it held, and every time he would find something he had first stepped foot in this room he was overwhelmed by the vast display of magical items Dumbledore stored in here, and he was determined from that point on to see them all. The Professor greatly encouraged him to do so as well so any time he would call Harry to him he would always leave time at the end of their visits from him to just peruse. This time, however, he couldn't stay to explain anything but that didn't stop him from letting Harry look around.

At first Harry moved aimlessly about the office, peering into bowls, stopping to stroke Fawkes between the eyes, which granted a soft coo from the phoenix, until he noticed something black at the top of a bookshelf. From where he was standing it looked quite familiar, the object drawing him in closer and closer until, finally, his fingers wrapped around it's leathery surface.

Bringing it down to eye level Harry's breath caught in the back of his throat. He could feel the color draining from his face and his heart beginning to pump faster. It was the same as he had remembered it. Small, black, and cold to the touch, with a gaping hole in the middle where he had stabbed it with a basilisk's fang. Voldemort's old diary... Flipping it slowly over he ran his finger over the gold imprinted letters. _Tom Marvolo Riddle. _Shaking his head Harry dropped the thing back onto its shelf and began to walk towards the door, not wanting to be in the same room as that horrible book.

Why in Dumbledore's right mind would he have kept that thing? Harry wondered angrily. Didn't he know the horrible things it had caused? What it could still do? He shook his head, and stopped in the middle of the room.

"It doesn't work anymore." He said to himself. "It's just a reminder… a memory. And that's all."

Perhaps Dumbledore was just a hoarder. He couldn't throw anything out and that's why it was still here. A smile grazed Harry's lips. That would explain why he kept so many things, he wouldn't even get rid of old newspapers. Maybe he should try to get him on that show Aunt Petunia watched so often. He could only imagine the reactions of those muggle producers receiving a letter from Hedwig saying there was a wizard who needed their help. Slowly Harry's smile faded as he turned around to face the diary again.

"I wonder…" Harry muttered, his overwhelming curiosity dragging him back to the shelf. He picked up the book gingerly, moving his finger towards it's ruined center. Could it still work? The thought was enough to make anyone go mad. He needed to try it, he had to. He looked around the office for a quill before realizing exactly what he was doing.

"No." He said firmly, making to shove it back in its spot. He knew of its power, how easily the memory inside could take over. It was already doing that to him now, but for some reason he couldn't put it back. It was Second year all over again…

Just then, without warning, the handle of the office door turned and Harry shoved the diary under his cloak without a second thought.

"Harry?" Dumbledore's voice echoed though the room and Harry turned quickly towards him.

"Ye-Yes, Professor?" He stammered quickly.

"Are you coming down for supper or not?" He asked with a chuckle. "We can't hold up the entire feast just for you, Mr. Potter."

Grinning, Harry nodded. "Yes, of course," while making his way over to the Professor.

"Good, good. Now come along, I heard that they're going to be serving chocolate pie for dessert."

Walking out of the door Harry silently slipped the diary deep into his pocket.

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><p>Dinner was absolutely agonizing. Sure the potatoes where delicious and the chocolate pie at the end was to die for, but Harry couldn't get that stupid diary out of his head. His hand would slip down into his pocket and slowly he would twirl his finger around its centre, wondering all the while what he would say.<p>

At first he thought of just asking if Tom were still there, but then he worried that would make him sound too desperate and that was the one thing he couldn't have Tom be thinking. He thought of yelling, of telling him about all the horrible things he's caused, the people who's lives he'd cost for his stupid ideals, but then again he'd might enjoy that so that idea was out. Finally he just landed on one simple phrase. Something that wouldn't make him sound like an idiot, and if the diary didn't work he wouldn't have gotten all worked up about nothing.

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione's voice came wafting in through Harry's thoughts.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Just thinking is all." He said, hardly aware of how he had ended up in the Gryffindor common room.

"About what?" Ron, who was slumped down in his armchair, potions book laying across his chest, chimed in.

"Nothing really, just about what Dumbledore said earlier," He said, saying the first thing that popped into his head and hoping they would drop the subject.

"Oh that's right, you weren't very descriptive when we asked at dinner," Hermione pressed.

"Like I said before, he only wanted to see how I was holding up and whatever." His thoughts flickering dangerously towards Sirius.

"And that he wanted to start these lessons with you. What's that about?"

"I don't know, he said he'd tell me the next time he called me up. He had to go remember."

"I know, I know. But I can't help but wonder… You're so lucky, Harry. Being taught directly from Professor Dumbledore. What I wouldn't give for that opportunity!"

"That's because you're crazy, Hermione." Ron said laughing, tossing aside his potion's book.

"Well excuse me for wanting to learn Ron. Not all of us want to just barely scrape by like you. I want to get somewhere in life. What about you?"

"Eh, I'll be fine." Ron replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "So how about helping me with this potion's homework huh?" He asked, waving around a blank sheet of parchment.

"Forget it," Hermione groaned, gathering up her homework and dumping it into her bag. "I'll see you two in the morning."

"Was it something I said?" Ron asked, confused, watching as she disappeared up the stairs.

"Who knows," Harry replied, grateful for the small distraction from the problem in his pocket. "Come on, let's get this potions stuff done before Snape kills us tomorrow."

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><p>It wasn't until the other's had fallen asleep did Harry draw the curtains around his bed and pull out the diary he had hidden under his pillow. Muttering under his breath the tip of Harry's wand shone bright and he placed it so that it would illuminate the pages of the diary.<p>

Opening up to the back of the diary he found a page that wasn't ink stained and stabbed through. Dipping his wand into the ink he finalized exactly what he was going to say and brought the tip to the page. Just as before, four years earlier, a drop of ink escaped from the tip of the quill and dripped onto to the page. Harry held his breath, his eyes growing wide as he leaned in closer. It lingered on the page, spreading slowly as the ink took to the page, but nothing more happened.

Harry let out a sigh and closed his eyes. The ink stayed, _it stayed_. The diary was dead, that was it. All of this for absolutely nothing. He hadn't realized until then just how much he wanted it to work, and that thought scared him. He should be glad. It couldn't hurt anyone anymore. And besides, it was Voldemort who had been trapped in there. He wanted nothing more than to kill him. Nothing good could come out of writing to his sixteen year old self. Nothing at all.

Opening his eyes again he made to close the diary but could only stare down in shock. The drop of ink, it was gone. The diary still worked.

Harry's heart beat wildly in his chest, blood coursing in his veins with such ferocity he could feel it. And then, completely disregarding all that he had told himself before, Harry wrote. Sitting there he watched as the ink sank down into the depths of the page, the words he wrote still echoing in his mind.

_Hello Tom, it's me… Harry Potter_


	3. Late Night Conversation I

Disclaimer: I still don't own this. Ms. Rowling on the other hand does.

Oh, and thanks for all you who are reading, and reviewing, and alerting, and all that good stuff. I write for you guys just as much as I write for me. You guys are awesome (:

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><p>Tom could hardly believe it. After all this time, after all he had done, the boy still wrote to him. How old must he be by now? He wondered aimlessly, debating on whether or not he should respond. It could very well be some sort of trap set by Dumbledore seeing if he was still alive. Well, as alive as one could be trapped in a diary. But that didn't really make much sense. Why would he try to disguise who he was?<p>

He decided quickly, concluding that even if it were a trap he could at least escape the dreary confines of his memory before he was completely destroyed. And besides, wasn't that what he had been wishing for only hours earlier, to be destroyed? Sending his awareness out to the paged above him he began to write back.

_Hello Harry. What a surprise it is to find you writing to me again. _

A wave of nausea washed over him, causing him to double over in pain and grasp stone torch for balance. What was happening to him? The floor swam blurrily before his eyes as his head began to throb. He quickly squeezed his eyes shut. This was no way for Tom to be. Weakness did not become him. Taking in a shuttering breath he straightened back up, opening his eyes. The corridor blurred slightly but then became clear again.

Using the wall as support he made his way slowly towards a room he knew had a comfortable chair and a warm fire. Hopefully sitting down would make this horrible feeling go away.

Ever since the diary had been stabbed the simplest of things had become difficult to do. He wasn't able to change his surroundings as easily as he could before, the people that he had created for conversation had faded away and he wasn't able to summon them back, and now this. He should have known that writing would be the hardest thing to do since it was the diary its self that was ruined, but he had acted carelessly. He would not do that again. He would have to be more careful.

Pawing open the heavy wooden door Tom sank down gratefully into the black leather chair, the churning in his stomach settling a bit. Muttering a spell under his breath a fire sprang to life in the grate, warming Tom's flushed face. Now all he had to do was wait.

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><p>Harry's breath caught in his throat once more. Tom had written back. That meant he was alive. Suddenly Harry began to regret plucking the diary from Dumbledore's office. What had he done? If anyone else found this, or knew he'd taken it… He could only image what he'd just unleashed unto Hogwarts a second time.<p>

Quickly he snapped the cover shut, shoving it back under his pillow. He couldn't do this. He couldn't talk to him anymore. He's tested the book; he found out that it worked. That's all he wanted to know and nothing more. So why did he feel like he needed to respond? To keep writing back even though he knew it was dangerous?

_It's because you are a stupid Gryffindor…_ Harry groaned, wishing he could just leave things alone but knew that he'd only pull the diary back out.

And just as he'd predicted the diary was sprawled out in front of him once more, his quill at the ready. Harry's hand shook as he scrolled the next line of words on the stained parchment…

_And a surprise to find you writing back._

Harry hoped that in those eight little words he had managed to get across every feeling he had at seeing Tom's neat writing printed elegantly across the page. After four years of thinking he was dead, four years of never having to worry about him only to find out that Harry should have never forgotten him. He doubted that they would, but it was worth a shot.

Leaning back against his pillows he decided to get comfortable, this could be a long night.

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><p>The tingling sensation washed over Tom's body once again, his headache almost vanishing, and Harry's tangled words imprinted themselves upon his mind.<p>

_And a surprise to find you writing back._

A surprise indeed, tonight was just full of them. Tom had half expected the diary to have lost its power to communicate, but apparently not, and as much as he hated to admit it, Tom was glad for it. He needed this. All this time by himself wasn't good for him. You begin to realize just how much you hate yourself when that's all you have.

Leaning back in his armchair Tom rested his feet on the table in front of him. He could hardly fathom what could be going on in Harry's head at the moment. What on earth had possessed him to write to him in the first place? Four years had gone by and in those years he had believed him gone. So why was it he was talking to him now? How did he even get the diary in the first place? Surely Dumbledore had hidden it. He wouldn't have wanted someone to get their hands on it, especially if he knew what it really was…

Then again, maybe the old coot didn't know what it was after all. Perhaps he hadn't caught on to his plan and the other horcruxes were as safe as he'd left them. Tom smirked, that would be why Harry had gotten it so easily. At least things were looking up on the outside.

_Well,_ Tom wrote back slowly, hoping the nausea wouldn't come back if he was more careful. _It's been very dull being cooped up in this diary… Not much happens here as you could expect._

Bracing himself Tom received yet another wave of sickness, but it wasn't nearly as bad as the first one. Breathing in slowly Tom closed his eyes and waited.

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><p>Harry watched as the black ink floated up to the surface of the parchment, appearing like, well, magic. He remembered how elegantly Tom spoke (Wrote? He wasn't sure. Perhaps it was both). It managed to make him feel less smart than he knew he was and made him want to write in the same way for some reason. He had to remember though that Tom was at least fifty years older than him, of course he's going talk differently. It just made him feel angry, like a child, and he wasn't too fond of that.<p>

_Well, it's been very dull doing cooped up in this diary… Not much happens here as you could expect. _The words were slow coming to the foreground of the page, as if Tom were choosing them carefully. Hesitating slightly Harry brought his quill back to the page quickly.

_You should be dead, Tom. _

Harry's writing almost ran together, his hand was moving to fast. It was as if he couldn't get the words out fast enough. He was no longer nervous; he could care less if something were to happen from him writing to Tom. Right now he was just angry and he needed Tom to hear it all.

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><p>Tom couldn't say Harry's words didn't shock him. They came at him so fast his head spun. He could almost feel Harry's anger springing forth after him, pushing it's way forcefully into Tom's mind. But he was right, under ever circumstance he should be dead. It was something he used to think of daily. It had become almost like an obsession, driving him into a sort of madness. Eventually he had just come to terms with it, calling himself lucky, a genius even in the beginning, until he fully realized what he was confined to.<p>

_You're right. I should be dead._

The words echoed heavily in Tom's mind, a sort of finality in them. They made his heart sink, his whole being tremble with a sense of defeat. He hated himself for feeling this way, something as weak and useless as defeat wasn't something Lord Voldemort should feel. But then again, in this world he wasn't Lord Voldemort… he was Tom, just Tom.

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><p>Harry glared at the pages, his face hot. He vaguely contemplated waking up Rom and telling him about the diary but then decided that was a horrible idea. Ron would absolutely hate him for this. He'd think Harry was putting Ginny back in danger all because Harry was curious. Even curiosity could kill the Boy Who Lived.<p>

It didn't take long for words to appear on the page again, as calm and neat as always on the stained paged. Harry wondered if Tom had any emotion at all, it never showed in his writing and it definitely didn't show in Lord Voldemort. Unless you his counted insane homicidal tendencies to be some sort of emotion. Oh, and rage, he liked rage too.

_You're right. I should be dead._

Harry paled at the sight of those words, those words that made every fibre in his being want to rip the diary into shreds right then and there. He hated them. He hated Tom. Why, after everything that he did, everything he would do now, did he survive while so many others died? It wasn't fair and it wasn't right. Was this some sort of cruel joke the universe threw at him? It wasn't as if he didn't have enough to worry about with the real Voldemort raging war against the Wizarding World, but now his old memory had to spring up too!

_Thenwhyaren'tyou,Riddle?_

He couldn't contain himself anymore. Harry had to get up. He had to move. Gathering up his things he pulled on an old pair of slippers and made his way down to the common room. Dropping the diary onto the threadbare carpet in front of the fireplace Harry crossed over to the window, pressing his head against the cool window, trying to calm down. He knew this would happen, he just knew it.

Just then a sharp pain shot through Harry's forehead. Wincing he brought a hand up to his scar, willing the pain to just go away. Ever since the battle in the Department of Mysteries the pain in his scar had gotten worse. It was always there, lingering, and if Harry wasn't careful it would do exactly what it was doing now. He just needed to calm down.

Rubbing his forehead absentmindedly, Harry crossed back over to the fireplace and opened the diary again, Tom's response already written nicely across the page.

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><p>Again Harry's words rushed quickly into his mind, flowing messily inside. It seems as if he hasn't bothered with using spaces now has he, Tom though snidely, as the sentence mashed untidily together.<p>

_Thenwhyaren'tyou,Riddle?_

It had arrived with such force Tom's head spun, his face twisting into a scowl. Closing his eyes tightly he took a deep breath, trying to sooth his throbbing temples.

_I… I don't know. _Was all he managed to say, the pain now reducing to a dull ache.

Slowly Tom opened his eyes, looking down at his hands as the words escaped him. It was true, after all the years of pondering, years of reading and searching, trying to discover the reason of his existence, he had come up with nothing. It pained him to be reduced to this level of intelligence, to have no inkling of the powers that saved him from being ripped apart to shreds. And there was absolutely no way for him to figure it out. There was nothing in this reality that Tom did not already know, no secret he had no already uncovered. This world has him, and he this world.

Sinking lower into his chair he muttered another spell and a glass of water appeared on the table before him. Taking a sip of the cool water he watched in silence as the flames in the hearth danced and Harry's response flowed smoothly into him.

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><p><em>I… I don't know<em>

Harry looked down at the page and almost felt a sort of pity for Tom. It must be torture him not to know what had been keeping him alive all this time. Even through the pity, however, Harry couldn't help but not care. Tom deserved this. He did. He did despicable, horrible things. Every ounce of torture he felt he deserved.

_You're just as pathetic as you always were, aren't you Tom? The soon-to-be-great Dark Lord can't even answer a question his sixteen-year-old mortal enemy asks. That is sad._

It felt good to say that. Harry's dark mood lifted slightly as a chill went through his body. Pulling out his wand he struck a fire in the fireplace and he went to go sit in his favorite squashy armchair and waited for Tom's response. Harry couldn't wait for what Tom would say to that, and a smile spread across Harry's lips.

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><p>Tom gritted his teeth, anger coursing dangerously throughout his body. How dare that insolent little boy insult him in such a way? How dare he accuse him of being pathetic! He knew nothing of Tom, couldn't even begin to fathom the depths of his knowledge! One unknown answer was not enough to judge one's brilliance.<p>

Tom breathed in slowly and set down his glass before he could crush it. He could find a while manner of horrid things to say back but nothing that could possibly strike a nerve with that Potter. Thinking slowly he arranged his thoughts, finally coming up with something that would (hopefully) get to that boy.

_On the contrary, Potter, _Tom wrote back with distain. _You seem to be the pathetic one. Out of all the people around you, you have chosen me to seek a conversation with, something not even I would have done in your position. But perhaps it is only because you find your own friend to be lacking, so lacking in fact that I am your last resort. _

He let the words sink slowly into the pages, anticipating the boy's response with smirk. It should come as no surprise that the young Dark Lord thrived in the midst of a fight, finding it absolutely enticing to soak in the rich anger flowing freely about him. He hadn't had a good argument in years and this was already satisfying his desires.

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><p>Harry watched and snorted loudly. Tom Riddle talking about friends! Now that was a laugh right there. He reread the words one last time before they faded away.<p>

_You're dumber than you seem it you think that's the case mate. _He scribbled across the pages, waiting for it to sink in before continuing. _I found you Tom and face it, you're glad to have the company, even if it is just me. Didn't you say that we were alike? I think you were confused though when you made the connection. You are more like me than I am like you, aren't you Riddle?_

Harry waited again, dipping the quill into the ink bottle and bringing back to the paper with force, spatters of ink getting all over the page and Harry's hand.

_Also, you've got some nerve talking about my friends when you have never once in your life had one. Ron is twice the man you'll ever be Voldemort, you are nothing compared to my friends. _

Harry threw his quill at the side table and watched as the ink dissolved into the page. What was it about Tom that made Harry get so worked up? Not even Malfoy could do this do him. But then again Malfoy had never done any of the horrible things that Tom had.

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><p>Tom sighed, hating himself for almost agreeing with the boy. He was correct in saying he was glad Potter was writing to him, almost as glad as he was when Ginny had started. It made him feel weak, just like everything else had that night. He should've known by now not to succumb to his most hidden desire but he could hardly let an opportunity such as this one pass on by.<p>

He shook his head as more words sunk into him, bolder than the first. So he had gotten to Harry. That was good to know. He was sure that if he kept writing to him as he had four years earlier he would need some sort of leverage against him. Harry seemed to have plenty on him.

… _twice the man you'll ever be Voldemort, you are nothing compared to my friends._

Tom raised an eyebrow upon hearing his other name. Voldemort. So Harry was brave enough to call him that now. Brave or just overly stupid like any other Gryffindor. Usually Tom associated both words with the same meaning so it didn't exactly matter to him which one he used.

_ Defensive are we? _Tom wrote with a grin, letting the words soak into Harry's sight. _And from your first little outburst do I detect that you too are glad to have the company?_

He added the end as more of an afterthought than anything else. Besides, if Harry truly believed Tom was like him (which was out of the question) then it was only fair that he would have the same need for company as Tom.

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><p>Harry's anger was increasing every time Tom's writing appeared on the page, and by now he was in the same state as he was by the window. Clenching his fists Harry contemplated throwing the diary into the fire, to be done with Tom forever. But then Tom would like that and Harry couldn't do something Tom wanted.<p>

_ Should I ever need company I would never seek it from you._

Harry stood up, the diary clambering to the floor. Taking a few deep breaths he made his way back to the window, resting his head once more on the glass. He wondered if there was a reason as to why he's rediscovered the diary. Perhaps Riddle had set a trap to lure some else into its clutches, or maybe he had been waiting for Harry all this time. He imagined Riddle patiently wandering the halls of his own Hogwarts, knowing, plotting, and waiting for Harry to reopen his diary.

It was a stupid thought but Harry couldn't help but almost believe it. Tom Marvolo Riddle was barely a man, almost nothing more than magic himself. Less than what ever it is he was after he'd been stripped of his body for ten years. He was a trick, like the Marauder's Map. If you didn't know the password it would talk to you, but not in the way you needed. Harry remembered with a chuckle when the Map had kindly told Snape to keep his 'oversized nose out of other people's business'. His smile then faded as the hollow feeling in his chest began to return when he remembered that Padfoot had been a signature at the bottom of the page.

Turning from the window Harry pushed Sirius from his mind; it was too soon to be thinking those thoughts. Besides, he needed to be in top shape if he wanted to keep out smarting Riddle. Then a thought occurred to him. Maybe that was what Tom was. Maybe if Harry had the password he might be able to get Tom to tell him all the things he wanted to know. Harry headed back to the diary and sat cross-legged in front of the fire, ready to continue writing when Tom's answer floated up to the surface.

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><p>Now I'm going to try to have the chapters be as long as this one but I'm not going to make any promises.<p>

Oh, and sorry for the cliff hanger but I needed to stop somewhere haha (:


	4. A Deal

Disclaimer: I still don't own this. Ms. Rowling on the other hand does.

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><p>Harry's words were steady and firm, written with a sort of finality Tom could only raise an eyebrow at. Slowly a smirk crept its way lightly across his lips. If the boy truly didn't seek his company then he wouldn't still be writing to him. He would've either thrown him in a fire or reported the diary to Dumbledore, both a sure ticket of his destruction.<p>

With malicious amusement he imagined the boy sitting angrily in front of the diary, waiting with an unknown expectancy for Tom to right back, hanging on his every word. While waiting he'd be telling himself over and over that he didn't want to talk to him, that Tom was evil and that he should stop, but no matter what he did he couldn't.

Chuckling to himself Tom rose from his seat, tired of the stillness around him. He needed so move, to get away from the sullen walls of the castle. It was odd how a place with so much life and warmth in the real world could be so cold and dead here. Tom wondered if it might have something to do with him, the diary reflecting his personality onto this world.

Pushing the large door aside he emerged into the corridor once more, moving quickly passed the windowed walls. Night had already fallen upon the grounds, perhaps hours ago, but it could've easily been minutes. Tom didn't pay attention to the outdoors anymore. It wasn't as if it had anything important to do with him anymore anyways. The passing of days had no effect here. Tom never aged and he didn't have anywhere important to go.

_Then why are you still here? _He asked, his thought positively dripping with unspoken taunts. He figured he'd let the boy wait long enough for an answer.

"Have Potter come up with a snide comeback now." He said to himself, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. And even though he'd meant the question as something to get the boy rattled he seriously did want to know the answer.

* * *

><p>Although Harry hadn't waited at the diary for Tom's answer it still felt like ages for the words to shine through the worn parchment. It still surprised Harry how they could still look as if someone were writing in it, their hand snaking over Harry's shoulder, but every time he'd look back they would vanish. Harry ran his finger over the words, seeing if they had any texture, they way his own writing did, but it didn't. It only felt like the printed page of a book, his letters slick and precise. They matched Tom perfectly.<p>

_The same reason I always was, Tom._

It seemed too simple of an answer, but at the same time Harry could feel more than one emotion flowing from him into the tip of his quill. They crashed down onto the page, breaking like waves on the shoreline and receding back into the ocean just as fast. He wanted nothing more than have Tom suffer as much as he possibly could but he needed this. He needed something to use against Voldemort and if this was the only way to find a weakness Harry couldn't mess anything up. Plus he figured that at the moment there was really nothing Tom could do to him, as long as he was careful, and he continued to let his words mark the parchment.

_We're both searching for answers and we're the only people who can give them to each other. There might be some reason why I've written to you, but you've written back._

There had to be something Tom wanted to know, Harry was sure of it. If Tom were to agree to share some of his information with Harry then he'd have to do the same, and he had an idea about what it was going to be.

* * *

><p>Stepping out of the castle a light breeze riffled passed him, the wind blowing his hair about in lazy strands. The only good part about being here was that the weather never changed. It stayed just as warm and bright as the day he'd created the diary. The trees and plants were always in bloom and the lake was cool as ever. Anyone else would have appreciated it more than Tom did, however. The only useful thing he took from it was that fresh ingredients for potions were always at the ready.<p>

Staring off into the darkness Tom's eyes landed on the surrounding forest that was the border of his prison. He wasn't able to pass it or even take a step into it; all he could do was look. Sighing in contentment Tom felt that familiar sensation ripple through him, a surge of words sinking into his skin.

… _We're the only people who can give them to each other. There might be some reason why I've written to you, but you've written back._

Tom was taken aback by the calmness he's received; the letters have no more anger feeding them. There was nothing that suggested him being mad anymore, but Tom couldn't be exactly sure. When his diary had been complete he could easily sense the emotions of the one writing to him with no interference, but now it came in spurts, the magic wearing off slightly by the basilisk venom.

_What kind of answers?_

Weariness washed over Tom. He should have realized that was all the boy would want, that was what he wanted last time. The Chamber was all that kid would ever talk about. He was obsessed, squeezing out every possible detail he could until, finally, Ginny stole Tom back. He couldn't say he was happy when she had gotten him back in her possession but it was a whole lot better than being pestered every minute of the day.

This time, however, Tom was sure he'd want information on him and Tom wasn't particularly keen on giving it to him. He'd kept his past a secret for a reason; no one was allowed to know any of it. When someone asked he'd brush them off, giving them the bare minimum. But now he wasn't so sure he'd get off the hook that easily. If there was anything he learned from the last time was that Potter wasn't so easily swayed, he'd keep pestering and pestering until he got what he wanted.

* * *

><p>Harry picked the diary up off the floor and went back to the armchair, curling up and resting the diary on his lap. He supposed he should be tired, it was incredibly late after all, but he wasn't, only anxious. Even before his own words had sunk into the pages he would expect an answer. It was as though he thought that Tom should be able to predict what he'd say and already be delivering his next reply.<p>

Harry wondered what it was like for Tom, what it was he did to write back. Did he have a diary of his own or did he do something else? What if he were the actual diary, feeling everything that happened to it, the cool ink of Harry's quill resting on Tom's papery skin, the heat of the fire raging in the fireplace….

_What kind of answers?_

And there it was, the ink again, sprouting up dutifully underneath Harry's fingertips. Tracing the words softly Harry absentmindedly wondered if maybe, somehow, Tom could feel his fingers on the parchment. Like someone slowly stroking his hand or even the essence of his soul…

"No! We are NOT thinking about that," Harry said firmly, snapping back into reality. That was impossible and absurd. Who cared if Tom could feel what was happening on the outside of the diary, certainly not Harry. He couldn't even give one flying fuck about him.

Drawing his finger away he dipped his quill into his inkbottle, slowly swirling its contents around and thinking about what to say next. Harry had to be careful he knew that. This diary was something special, a passport to things that he seemed to be able to remember but he himself had never seen. With the right words he'd be able to unlock the most unimaginable secrets, be told almost anything he wanted to know. That was, of course, if Tom was feeling particularly generous.

Harry held the quill gingerly, writing out his words as elegantly as he could, trying to portray as much seriousness in them as he felt.

_All kinds, _Harry wrote gently, the tip of the quill just brushing the surface of the parchment. _You want to know what it is keeping you there in that diary and I need something from your past that can help me destroy your future. You want to know what it is like to be alive again and I need help on my potion's homework. You see, so many questions and only one place for answers._

Harry noticed that he was smiling a little as his words fell into the page. He remembered when he'd first met Tom, how he'd taken him into his memory and shown him what Tom wanted him to see. He remembered when he and Tom had spoken in person, how magnificent he had first seemed, how heroic and important. He was everything Harry had wanted to be. Smart, brave, and incredibly level headed. At least that was what Harry had thought before Tom had tried to ceremoniously crush him with a giant snake.

"Just too good to be true," Harry said sarcastically with a slight chuckle.

Harry wondered if there was some way for them to have that sort of communication again, it sure would be easier than writing back and forth. Could you take someone into a memory and talk to them there? Could he possibly do as he did before and come out of the diary? Or could Harry go in himself? He wasn't sure, but then again it would probably end up badly so he was better off not knowing.

Looking up from the diary Harry's eyes fell on the clock hanging above the fireplace, its hands telling him it was a quarter passed two. Harry knew that if he didn't get to sleep soon that he would never wake up in the morning but he was just too jittery. And besides, this was much more important. He could care less if he slept through History of Magic anyway so there was no point in going up to bed.

* * *

><p>Tom walked the perimeter of his world, always amazed at how undefined it looked. Almost everything else was crisp and sharp but here everything was blurry and blotchy. He supposed it made sense though; he wasn't much for the forest in his existence anyhow. He remembered back to when he'd first stepped outside, marvelling at what he had been able to create for himself. He was impressed with the detail, the exactness of it all, but he was barely aware of how close he was from reaching its end. All it took was a toe, a sliver of skin to pass the invisible line, and it would feel as if knives were running down the length of your body.<p>

A year after his destruction he'd come here and just stare into the abyss, wondering what would happen if he took a running start and dived right in. He supposed it would be a lot like dying, something the Dark Lord would never do, but at that moment in time it seemed like it would be a dream. His mater plan had failed, his diary was most likely discarded, and he was trapped here for the rest of eternity.

He tested it of course, inching farther and farther in until he couldn't take it anymore, until his skin felt as if it were being torn from his bones and he would pass out only to wake up back in his bed. Then the next day he'd do it all over again until, finally, he realized it was all in vein. He went back to studying and his experiments, telling himself what he was trying to do was stupid.

Shaking his head Tom pulled his mind away from those thoughts. He wasn't himself then. Suicide did not become Tom Marvolo Riddle. He focused instead on what Potter had written to him. So he wanted a way to kill him, that wasn't such a surprise, but he hadn't expected him to be so direct about it. Sometimes Tom would wonder what would happen if Harry won the battle against Lord Voldemort. Would he just disappear? He was a piece of his own soul after all. Perhaps all the other horcruxes were the same. Suspended in this sort of limbo for all of time until, finally, whatever was left over in the real world had passed on to hell.

Tom chuckled a bit at Harry's potions remark, forcing himself out of his reverie. Stupid boy still struggling with his schoolwork, he would never get anywhere in life if he weren't so famous…

_What makes you so sure that I will let you see anything at all? And if I did tell you anything about myself I definitely wouldn't pour out my weaknesses. I'm not stupid Harry. _

But the boy did have a point, Tom needed to know what kept him here and if a few stories from his past were all it took then it didn't seem too harmful.

* * *

><p>Harry fiddled with a hole in the bottom of his pant leg, picking at the little strings that frayed out from it. He was growing impatient having to wait for each response, wishing they would appear quicker. Each time they emerged it was almost like Harry was having a tiny adrenaline rush. Tom's script would show up on the spattered yellow page and Harry's heart would pump faster with every response. He was really starting to hate himself for that but it couldn't be helped.<p>

… _I definitely wouldn't pour out my weaknesses. I'm not stupid Harry. _

Harry sighed; he thought that he'd be able to persuade him easily but with Tom nothing was ever easy. He'd have to keep trying, eventually he'd be able to get to him, he just knew it.

_I'm glad that we're finally on a first name basis, Tom. I am perfectly aware that you wouldn't let anything slip on purpose, but things do slip without you meaning to. It's only human. Besides, I already know one of your weaknesses and I plan on using it as much as I can._

Harry tucked his knees in closer to himself, trying to keep warm. The fire was still pretty high but Harry was frozen. He couldn't help but thinking that it for some other reason he had the chills. It was just as it was four years ago... Talking to Tom Riddle made Harry cold and it made him anxious. He hadn't changed a bit.

"Brilliant, just brilliant." He muttered to himself, rolling his head back and staring up at the ceiling. That was last thing he needed, Tom becoming an obsession like last time. But Harry knew something he didn't know then. Tom wasn't to be trusted with important things and he needed to be as careful as ever. It was one thing to play with fire but another to let it burn you.

He wouldn't let this thing take over his life.

* * *

><p><em>Human.<em> The word lingered longer in Tom's mind than he would've liked. He could barely remember what it was like to be made of flesh and bone, not of ink and paper. It took all his strength to be able to channel that memory, to make it feel real against his body, but it only last a few measly moments. As time went on it became harder to remember anything from his outside life, actually. All he knew anymore was this place, everything else was only a dream and that dream was fading fast.

He'd learned fast to record every last thing he remembered into a journal so as not to completely forget. But he knew that eventually, one day, he might not be able to recall anything.

Tom would never admit it but he longed to be real again, to be out of this diary once and for all. He almost envied the part of him that escaped, the part that broke free and was now taking the wizarding world by force. Why couldn't he have been the on to go? Surely he would have been a better candidate than the other. He would have never allowed a mere baby to cause his almost downfall. He'd have taken the world by storm! No one would have been free from his iron rule! It should've been him out there… It should have.

_I never let anything slip. Every word I write is intentional whether you know it or not. _

Harry might have been able to figure out his need to be free and he could exploit it all he wanted, but Riddle would never succumb to anything else. Ever.

Turning his back on the forest Tom made his way back towards the castle. There was nothing out here and he didn't really know why he'd come outside in the first place. It was cold, it was dark, and a lot like Tom himself, but strangely enough he didn't prefer his surroundings that way.

* * *

><p>The words glittered in the firelight almost as if the ink they were written in were still wet. Quickly reading the sentence Harry chuckled. Tom could be so mellow dramatic sometimes. Well it was actually most of the time but Harry didn't really feel like getting into the details just then.<p>

_Okay, fine. You win for now. Just think about it all right. You're getting something out of it too remember. _

A yawn escaped Harry's lips, tears welling up in the corner of his eyes. Through all the excitement he didn't realize just how tired he was. Glancing up at the clock Harry was amazed by how much time had passed since his last look.

"Only a few more," Harry told himself while stretching out his legs. If he didn't say it out loud he knew he'd never follow through, just like earlier that night when he said he wouldn't write at all.

* * *

><p>Tom sighed. The boy was being slightly reasonable and if Tom weren't so stubborn he'd probably go along with it. Potter wouldn't get what he wanted that easily, he'd have to prove himself first. Yes, if he were to give out information about himself he'd have to get Harry to tell him something beforehand… but what? There wasn't much that he didn't know already so it would have to be something to prove the boy wasn't lying, that he was trust worthy. He couldn't be receiving false information while Potter rolled around in pointless stories of his own past.<p>

Tom crossed the length of the Entrance Hall and headed down into the dungeons. It was the only part of the castle he'd made completely his own, draping the walls in Slytherin colours and placing anything he'd thought interesting from the upper floors in some the many rooms. He needn't walk long before he came to a large spread of wall that hid the Slytherin Dungeon.

"Nobility," Tom uttered, a great black door emerging from the stone and swinging open on cue. Stepping inside Tom made himself at home, sprawling out on one of the leather couches and staring up at the dark ceiling.

_I will consider this agreement but only if you prove yourself to me. Get me the instructions for the Seer's Potion located in Gregory Flan's version of Venenum. If you can do that I will tell you one thing you want to know. That is the only way this will work. You give me something I want for exchange for something you want. If you fail to find what I tell you to you will get no answer for that day. Are we clear?_

Tom couldn't stress enough the importance of that one detail. He wouldn't give out anything for free. Not one thing.

Tom winced slightly as another wave of nausea swept over him. He thought he was passed that but apparently not. Perhaps it was because he wrote so much. It would make sense no matter how much Tom hated it. Pulling himself up to a sitting position he put his head in his hands, the throbbing only getting worse. Groaning Tom couldn't wait until the next response came, it would make this infernal feeling go away.

* * *

><p><em>Are we clear?<em>

It was more than Harry could've asked for. Quickly he jotted what he was supposed to find on the palm of his head, not wanting to forget it in the morning.

_I understand. I'll find it for you tomorrow._

Yawning Harry placed the diary on the side table and stood up. All that time in the chair had made him stiff and groggy, his eyelids weighing heavily. Briefly he wondered what in the world a Seer's Potion could be before collecting his things and heading back up to his awaiting bed.

Harry stashed the diary deep in his trunk right underneath a pair of old socks Uncle Vernon had given to him last year. That seemed to be wear he put everything secret he had these days, if anyone was paying attention they would find it. Harry, however, was too tired to care. Slipping off his glasses he settled down in his warm bed, sleep taking over his body in seconds.


End file.
